


Abyssal

by twofoldAxiom



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Enthusiastic Consent, Fantrolls, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Fucking With Bulges, Original Character(s), Pailing without a pail, Taking Advantage Of Extreme Devotion, Xenophilia, questionable characterization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 19:46:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19383499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twofoldAxiom/pseuds/twofoldAxiom
Summary: Orphaner Dualscar gets an offer from a young investigarroteur who's probably in over their head.





	Abyssal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ValorousOwl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValorousOwl/gifts).



> Written for [ValorousOwl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ValorousOwl/pseuds/ValorousOwl) who asked for this like, December of last year. Enjoy!
> 
> The character Alecir belongs to them, I just wrote the fic. If I forgot to tag anything, please feel free to tell me!
> 
> EDIT:  
> Hecked up the pronouns earlier. Alecir is they/them, not he/him.

"Sir?"

You look up, your good eye slightly bleary and your bad eye nearly out of it entirely, before your focus narrows down to the concerned-looking tealblood standing a little too straight in front of you. The investigarroteur assigned to your ship, Alecir what's-their-face, yeah, that's the one, they clear their throat and try to speak again as if you hadn't been ignoring them this entire time.

"I've submitted the necessary reports to the legislacerator corps already." They say, and when the pause stretches on a bit too long to be entirely comfortable, you gesture for them to continue. They clear their throat again, nervous habit maybe. "I'll be taking leave of your ship next time we dock."

"Very well." You answer, quick to return to looking down at your quartermaster's reports on the crew, and you consider just how long it will be before you see land again. You yourself have no trouble being at sea, but there are those in your crew with more delicate constitutions, after all, who need the respite from Glb'golyb's constant murmur. "Did you have something you wanted to say before you left?" 

You stare them down as you say it, make it clear this is less a request and more an order to explain this interruption or leave. They hesitate a little longer, glancing away from you even, and you're just about to consider ordering them out of the block when they probably catch the look on your face and decides it's now or never.

"I legitimately enjoyed the honor of working on your ship, sir." They says. You snort at that, ready to say something about time on a ship not being _meant_  to be enjoyable, but they go on before you can. "It was an enlightening experience on the superiority of highbloods, in particular seadwellers. One that I won't be able to bring with me to land."

Well, they at least know how to pique your interest. Again, you're silent until they squirm. "Enlightening in what way, exactly?"

Alecir takes a deep breath, steadying themself.

"If you have an opening in the crew for me, I would gladly stay. There's... no real place for me as an investigarroteur, the way things are going." They gulp. So they  _have_ heard of the restructuring of the legislacerator corps, then; they're at least aware of their surroundings, if not particularly special in any other way. "At least on board the _Ganymede_ , I have a purpose, and- and I can be as close to the best as I can be, being near the best. That's all I really want."

You lean back in your seat and they stand a little straighter, practically humming with nervous energy. What do you say to that? You don't think you have any official openings at the moment, and besides, would it be a good idea to keep a tealblood at sea for so long?

You're a ruthless, demanding captain, but you're not _unreasonably_ cruel. Alecir's barely earned their sea legs, even. Wouldn't last another month out here unless you made sure to keep an eye on them every second of the night they were on deck, and that's a best case scenario already.

Some part of you, a sly, dark whisper, considers that it doesn't have to be on deck where you keep an eye out. You fold your fingers in front of you, only half your attention on them. "I'm listening." You say, though more to your little shoulder angel than to them. You look them over, the way they stand so attentively, the quiet desperation in every twitch. They do want so terribly to be of use to you...

You recall their work on the ship so far. Prompt, a little too prompt, and eager to please. Simpering, even, but of a genuine desire to be the dirt under your boot heels. Some part of you is disgusted, and another- well, you haven't felt that kind of ache in a long time, in your chest and below the belt. Not the kind of pity that you think will last, you're too old for that. But for a pretty young thing who'll bend over and backwards for you on command?

It'll last long enough. It's kind of cute, if you'll admit to anything being cute. 

"Sir?" Alecir, to their credit, doesn't twist their fingers or anything. You lick across your teeth, making a show of their sharpness as you stand and gesture for them to come to you. They do so without question, without hesitation, looking up at you with an awe usually reserved for the Empress herself. 

You can't think of a troll in the world who could say no to devotion like that, or a troll that would even want to.

"I'm going to give you a few instructions, and I expect you to pay perfect attention to every word." You bring up one hand, scarred and huge and calloused. The contrast between the two of you is even starker when you wrap your fingers around their throat, giving it a gentle squeeze; not enough to cut off breath, but enough to make it uncomfortable. "I would so hate to have to repeat myself. You're not going to disappoint me, are you?"

Alecir's mouth moves, lips trembling. You squeeze tighter, increasing pressure in increments, and their eyes go wide but they still manage to wheeze a response, "N-no, sir. I promise not t-to disappoint you."

"Good, then we have an understanding. You're hired." You drop them- the look of shock on their face when their weight is back on their own feet is priceless- and they stumble into the desk. When they try to straighten up, you take hold of one of their slender horns and slowly, inescapably, push them back down until their cheek touches the wood.

They look up at you with one eye, with only the barest hint of trepidation, and you feel your bulge beginning to unfurl from its sheathe.

"Stay down." You murmur, right against their ear, and then you let go of their horn so you can take a step back and watch them- they can't see you from this angle but you can definitely see them, the tension in their shoulders, the anticipation in the cant of their hips. "Answer me: Do you have any idea what I'm going to do to you?"

"I'm not a mind reader, sir, but..." Alecir swallows with an audible gulp. Spreads their legs, just a little. "I can make an educated guess. Do you want me to?"

So they want this as much as you do, you think, or maybe more; your bulge curls in on itself in your leggings at the thought, the fabric more than a little too tight now. You smack them across the ass and hear a yelp, and it wasn't even hard enough to shift your desk out of place. Your hand stays where it is though, kneading flesh through their uniform slacks. You think Alecir even moans.

"Won't be necessary, but try not to spoil yourself of all the surprises." Your claws tear a hole through the crotch of their slacks and their breath catches, and a certain hunger in you spills over into slickness between your legs as your bulge finally pushes out the rest of the way. They're just as wet, too; and they're not so far down on the spectrum that it burns, but they're a nice, warm contrast to your fingers when you glide them along the lips of their nook, dip them into the trembling, clutching seam. Only the first couple inches of their bulge are out so far, but it's enough wiggle room to make their moans hitch, too.

"Sir-" They breathe sharply as you push two of your fingers in to the first knuckle. "Sir- _fuck_ that's tight- _please_ -"

"Gagging for it already? I'll wreck your sorry nook if you keep up that kind of talk, and I'd like to do this again, you know." You bite your lip as they tremble around your fingers. Even if you prep them properly- and you don't intend to- it's going to be a sore stretch for them. "Learn some patience, pet."

They shiver, moan again; the plaintive noises hissed through their teeth are all broken, pathetic nonsense as they grip the edge of the desk and you twist your fingers a little deeper into the first curve of that eager nook. Your free hand pushes your leggings down, heedless of how they're going to stain as you give your bulge a reassuring squeeze at the sight of Alecir like this, wanton and wanting. You thrust those fingers into Alecir's nook once, twice, forceful and firm just to hear them yelp and try to stop themself from clamping their thighs around your wrist. 

It's almost too easy to tease them; your thumb comes up and presses between the cleft of their cheeks and they just about arch up when you press ever so slightly against the hole there, which only gives you an excuse to smack them again and growl.

"What did I tell you about keeping your head down?" Even in your mock anger, a little chuckle finds its way out of you. You don't press any further in, but you curl the fingers already inside to hear Alecir whine. "I'll let it slide because it's amusing, but control yourself."

"Yes- yes sir." They pant. Their head thunks dully against the wood, shoulders slightly raised as they try to curl in on themself and fuck their nook on your hand at the same time. Their bulge is licking across your knuckles. "I want- _mmh..._ I want to be good for you."

Fuck.

They really know how to make an old troll feel special again. If there's any kind of fondness you feel for them, you're going to _fuck_  it out. Your fingers withdraw and you lay yourself over them, pushing their jaw open as they arch under you and your fingers find a new, looser heat to rest in, making them taste themself as you stroke over lips and tongue.

"Suck." You mutter. Your bulge curls against their ass, dips lower to find the lips of their nook; they whimper, but wrap their lips around your fingers tight and sucks like they might suck a bulge. You find yourself purring against them as the tip of your bulge finally pushes past the grasping cilia of their nook.

It's even tighter now, but you feel them make way for you. You groan as your bulge slides deeper into them, taking up the space their own bulge had been taking when it was curled up in its sheathe; it unfurls with a shudder and you feel them lock their jaw, stopping themself from biting you while a thin trickle of fluid leaks out of their nook. You're not sure if it's theirs or yours, the heat of them indistinguishable from the heat of a first shot of come.

They breathe, shallowly, stretched tight. It probably _does_ hurt, but they're taking you well enough that you have to give them  _some_  praise. You suck on the shell of one ear as they grunt when you roll your hips, and they even push their hips back, tentatively at first as you find the first bend, and then eagerly as your bulge curls around the second, stuffing their nook painfully full. They breathe through their nose and mumble something around the fingers in their mouth. You stroke their tongue and _shove_  forward.

You can feel their nook stretched tight around the base of your bulge now, and you haven't even really started moving yet. You growl again, clench your teeth hard enough that you can feel your jaw creak; the world is a distant speck in the sea of heat and need you're in now, all your focus on railing this little tealblood stupid.

Your bulge pulls back and twists into them and they open their mouth in a wordless shout; not pained, but breathless and overwhelmed, bulge striping against your own nook as it looks for something to bury itself in. You don't even care if you get anything in your nook right now; you think you could even come in them without it, how they squeeze and ripple around you.

You think they're trying to say something around your fingers so you pull them out, wrap them around their pretty neck again as you rut into them harder. "Out with it." You growl, your voice huskier than it needs to be; it's been a long time, and you're close, you're so close you can taste it in the back of your teeth.

"P-pail-" 

"We don't need no fuckin' pail." You're going to make a mess of both of you, but it'll be worth it. You shove one of their legs up onto the desk and they wail as you go even deeper, and you _moan_ , throaty and unashamed as their bulge gushes into your own nook from under you. It's too short to be any sort of real fill, but the stimulation is nice, helping to urge you along. "That's right, pet, fuckin' scream for me. Gonna fill you up and let it spill all over the place, how does that feel?"

It's deliciously filthy even to your own ears. More so when Alecir arches their back, when you feel the heat in them spike and a gush of wetness between you- and then warmth inside you, as their bulge spurts some geneslime itself. The heat spreads through you, deep in your gut, and you can't take it anymore.

You come almost at the same time, one hand slamming against the desk while you grunt and groan to keep control of yourself, the other twisted tight around Alecir's throat. You worry you might actually hurt them, for a second; a flash of actual pity that shocks you almost as much as it insults you, but it's blown away by the mindless static and sensation almost immediately. 

You feel them slump under you before you entirely come to. You hear them breathing, raggedly, loudly, but they're breathing, so you didn't crush their windpipe. By then you've got some of your wits back about you, just enough to pull back and pull away from Alecir, and feel the thick splatters of your mixed fluids trickling down your thighs.

You look over the desk. Your reports are all over the floor, but you have to admit, a well-fucked investigarroteur makes for a pleasingly dishevelled sight sprawled out like that, your slurry dripping from their nook and staining their bulge. They look like they might have seen God. Or more realistically, they look like they're in shock.

You snap your fingers next to their ears until you get a response, a bit shaky, but there. They groan. "Ah- wha-?"

"You did good for a trial; though you're gonna have to make sure you keep up that bootlicking act because I don't think you'll survive pitch." You almost wish you'd saved this for back in port. You could use a drink right about now, and certainly a bath. 

You turn away to find something to wipe down with, already thinking of cleaning up this mess as best you can without involving the rest of your crew. You outrank all of them in caste, position, and sexual prowess, you're sure, but you're not exactly the type to flaunt a lack of hygiene to them either way, and you're not spoiled enough to have someone wipe up your spilled slurry for you.

You hear a mumble from Alecir as you bend down to pick up the reports now all in disarray. Your back even cracks. You're really not as young as you used to be.

"Come again?" You say, not even looking up from the sheet. You hear them struggle to their feet, hear another splatter of fluid hitting the floor. "Speak up, sweetheart; I can't hear a word you're saying."

"I said neither of us would have to worry. I could never hate you enough for pitch, sir." Alecir says, sincerely, so sincerely you feel like it must be a joke. You glance at them over the edge of the paper in your hands. They gulp again, tired, but oddly triumphant. "But if you wanted to, I..."

You laugh. "Of course not, pet; like I said, you wouldn't last a day in a pitch fling with a seadweller." You get the bizarre urge to pet their hair, but refrain. It wouldn't do to actually act affectionate at this point. "Don't get ahead of yourself. I like you, but not that much and not that way. Still, I'm not a complete brute."

Alecir looks confused at that, but you gesture towards your private quarters. "There's a basin and a pitcher of water in there. Scrub yourself down so you look presentable when you get out. Not that anyone outside _isn't_  going to know exactly what we've been doing in here."

Again, they blush, quite visibly even. They nod, limping a little, but putting on a brave face as they hurry to your quarters. You expect they might linger in there a little longer than necessary, but you'll deal with that later; for now, you still have all these files to re-sort, these stains to get out of the wood, and these leggings to burn. 

The engine hums around you even in your little study, the metallic noises of the ship chugging through the night a familiar backdrop to your work. You think, it'll be a long time before you see port again after this stop, and perhaps a long enough time to test your new plaything's mettle. If nothing else, it'll be a long enough time to test exactly how much they mean it when they say they'll do anything for you. You have a few ideas already, of course. Your bulge gives a weary twitch at the thought.

You sigh and toss the papers back on the desk, leaning back in your chair. Tomorrow, you'll restock supplies and re-introduce Alecir to the crew as your new cabin keeper. Nobody is going to buy a single, goddamned word.


End file.
